


Half Crazy

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: When the Ministry hosts a Valentine's Day exchange, Hermione has strong feelings about participating. Draco, unsure of the reception, also has feelings of a completely different variety.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 38
Kudos: 203
Collections: Strictly Dramione Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Fest





	Half Crazy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snowflake_Dazzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowflake_Dazzle/gifts).



> To Snowflake_Dazzle: I hope you like it! I have no idea what you hoped for with the bicycle, but I hope it makes you smile!
> 
>   
> 

**TWO WEEKS**

“Are you bloody kidding me? Another one?” Ron sneered in disgust and tossed the elegant piece of parchment onto the table. It landed on his mostly empty plate and immediately began soaking up the gravy he’d left behind.

Harry chuckled. “You know how the Party Planning Committee loves any excuse to celebrate.”

Ron rolled his eyes so hard Draco thought he’d have to thump him on the side of his head to get them unstuck. He smirked to himself at the mental image. 

“But we just had a ridiculous themed Christmas party, with enchanted mistletoe, spiked punch, and a Secret Santa exchange. And thank Merlin I missed the New Year’s thing. I swear, they get more outlandish every year. Do we really _need_ another big interagency mixer so soon?” Ron whined, pushing the invite through more gravy with his fork. 

Harry sighed. “What’s the catch this time?”

“Some tripe about a Valentine exchange,” Draco remarked. “Remember second year, with Lockhart?” The other men cringed, and Draco enjoyed how visibly uncomfortable he’d managed to make them without even meaning to. He grinned. “It’s some shite like that. They’re setting up these gaudy boxes in the Owlery especially for receiving the Valentines. One box for each employee. You’re supposed to send them to lots of people. It’s not just a romantic thing.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Ron eyed him suspiciously. 

Draco chuckled. “Because Louise down the hall is on the committee and can’t keep a secret to save her life. The plan is for the boxes to be delivered on Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s going to be a logistical nightmare.” Hermione dropped her lunch tray the last inch, letting it clatter onto the table as she dramatically plopped into the last empty chair of the four. “Have you any idea how many people are employed at the Ministry?” She scooted her seat closer, loudly scratching the feet on the floor. “And they want a box—an actual box!—for each person? Where are they going to put them all?”

Draco knew that she was just getting started. Part of him wanted to leave before sparks started flying—literally—but another part wanted to watch the show. Besides, she was bloody gorgeous when she was fired up about something. And if he wanted to stare at her without attracting unwanted attention, then during one of her rants was always a good time to do so. Everybody else was so focused on her that nobody paid any attention to him. 

“Um, Hermione,” Ron interrupted sheepishly. “It is, you know, the Ministry of Magic. With actual magic? So they’ll just, I don’t know, do it with magic?”

The glare she turned on Ron could have melted solid steel. “The point, _Ronald_ , is that somebody has to spend their time sorting through rubbish pieces of manufactured affection for two whole weeks! What a colossal waste of time!”

“But how do you really feel, Granger?” Draco deadpanned. 

It was a testament to how far they’d come in their non-aggression almost-friendship that she merely ignored him. 

Harry, usually the one who worked hardest at keeping the peace, forced out a chuckle. “It’s all in good fun, right? I mean, how bad can it really be?”

Hermione stabbed at the salad on her plate and all three men jumped. She then proceeded to very angrily chew a bite of lettuce, scowling as she muttered under breath between bites. Draco thought he heard “manufactured holiday” and “rip-off” amongst other unsavory adjectives.

He smirked to himself. Harry and Ron tried to carry on a normal conversation for another five minutes, but since they’d both been finished with their meals when Hermione sat down, they seemed rather keen on escaping the waves of wrath emanating from their friend. When it was just the two of them, he found it infinitely more awkward. Suddenly his bravado disappeared, his palms started to sweat, and he couldn’t string two words together in a row worth saying. 

When she’d gored through half her salad, the intensity of her fork jabs began to decrease. Her tone still had all of its bite, however. “What do you think of this… this contrived goodwill exercise?”

Draco didn’t answer right away. He wanted to agree with her while also admitting that he thought it wasn’t terrible. At least it wasn’t that New Year’s Eve Day Party they’d foisted on everyone, wherein at four o’clock, they’d pretended that it was an hour before midnight and had a ball drop at five and everything. He thought that little notes of kindness couldn’t be all that bad.

“I think… this holiday happens whether we want it to or not, and if they want to encourage people to be kind to each other, that’s not so awful. However, the Committee is also famous for blowing things out of proportion and beating an idea until it’s a ghost, so I don’t hold out much hope for a simple affair this time.”

He almost didn’t want to look at her for fear of a glare similar to the one she’d given Ron, but when she didn’t speak or move, he couldn’t help himself. As soon as their eyes met, she glanced away and continued eating normally. 

“Will you be spreading any goodwill?” she asked stiffly. 

“I haven’t thought about it much.” This wasn’t _quite_ true. “It might be fun to prank some people.” He’d thought about this aspect quite a bit. “Although I’m sure that would be frowned upon.” He didn’t care.

Hermione harrumphed and set her fork down, her brow furrowed. “You’re actually going to participate?”

The surprise in her voice made him uneasy. “Why not?”

She didn’t explode and start on another rant. Instead she quietly considered his question over another bite of her salad. Two bites. Then she sighed. “It’s just so fake. Why does there need to be a special day to tell the people you love that you love them? It’s this huge industry where companies spend millions to create products for just this one, tiny day, and then consumers spend even more millions to buy the things, and then the things get tossed in the rubbish or die or lie forgotten on a shelf, and then we do it all again next year!”

He bit his tongue, keeping in the words that tried to jump out of his mouth: would you feel that way if you weren’t single? Somehow, he suspected she would, though she might be less bitter about it. No, she certainly would feel the same. 

Draco polished off his glass of water and stood with his tray, oddly anxious to be away from her. Normally, he never wanted to leave her presence, but he had a few things he needed to consider before returning to work. “Something tells me, Granger, that you’re going to have a very full box of rubbish.” With a curt nod, he spun on his heel and headed out of the cafeteria. 

**TWELVE DAYS**

Draco had a problem. He was beginning to think that he needed to consider the possibility that he might in some way, shape, or form, have a teeny tiny, itty bitty thing for Hermione Granger. Maybe.

He’d started to suspect something around Halloween, when his throat had gone dry at the sight of her in her costume. She’d dressed as someone from a ‘vintage American film,’ she had said—something about breakfast with a friend? She’d worn a black, scoop-necked dress that hugged every single curve on its way to the floor, paired with sleek black gloves that stopped above her elbows. Her hair had been styled in a sweeping twist on top of her head, complete with a tiara. She carried a long, thin black stick everywhere she went, and he’d been astonished to learn that it was actually her wand, which she’d somehow transfigured. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the skill it took to transfigure one’s wand, so naturally he’d needed to stare at her all night in deep confusion and scientific interest.

After that, he’d started to feel awkward around her. He started fumbling his words and, Merlin help him, his throat had gone dry again at the sight of her at the Ministry’s Yule Ball. He’d wanted to draw her name for the Secret Santa Christmas Exchange, but then, so did every man at the Ministry with two brain cells to rub together. He’d drawn Neville instead and bought him a cactus. Somehow, this insignificant action had drawn her attention, and she’d gone out of her way to thank him. 

Though they’d been friends for a few years now, he’d never seen her as anything other than his beautiful, brilliant, witty friend. Emphasis on _friend_. Sure, he’d always preferred sitting next to her, but that was because she made such great conversation. And, yeah, he’d always sought out her opinion on things, but only because she was so thoughtful and would owl him for days after with new thoughts or ideas. He’d really, really gotten comfortable in their _friendship_ , and this new whatever it was could not be good. No good could come from falling for a friend. Especially when that friend was someone like Hermione Granger. And when he was someone like himself. There were simply zero units of hope for someone like him with someone like her, and he’d always known it. It was one reason it had been so easy to befriend her: he knew there was absolutely no point in even letting anything other than friendship cross his mind. Not that it had, consciously, because he’d always known it deep in his soul. She was way too good for him and would never ever look at him as more than a friend. 

He didn’t know why that particular costume had affected him—he’d seen her wear similar dresses before—or even if it was the costume. He’d been wracking his brain ever since that night, trying to pin it down. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it, the more he thought about _her_. Hence, his current predicament of no longer being completely and utterly chill in her presence. Because somehow, for some reason, when he was very busy not thinking about Hermione in any way except as his friend, the idea slipped in and snuck up on him from behind, tapping him on the shoulder and shouting ‘boo!’ Now he was almost certainly going to have to face the reality that he could conceivably have developed the smallest of inklings of feelings for Hermione Granger.

Maybe.

**NINE DAYS**

“Did you hear about Hawkins in Accounting?” Ron slammed his tray onto the table and sat heavily, his hand on a roll before his bum hit the seat. 

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “No, Ron. Some of us actually work when we’re here.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. One of his favorite pastimes was watching Hermione put Ron in his place. No matter how many times it happened, it never failed to make Draco happy. Part of that could be due to the fact that the wizarding world at large still hung onto the hope that Hermione and Ron would reconcile and grace them with their celebrity relationship at every turn, and it amused Draco to no end to see how very deluded the wizarding world at large was. Not that he’d needed further proof beyond the way they fawned over the very unspectacular savior-of-the-wizarding-world Harry Potter.

“What about him?” Harry was ever the peacemaker between his two best friends. 

Ron took a bite of his roll. “He’s fancied Matilda in HR for ages.” 

Draco had developed a very sophisticated ear for translating the words Ron spoke whilst his mouth was stuffed full. 

“Everybody knows it.” Ron swallowed, thank Merlin. “He told some of the blokes that he’s planning on telling her in a Valentine. In one of those bloody boxes.”

Draco felt Hermione tense beside him. 

“I think it’s romantic.” Luna Lovegood, Harry’s long-time girlfriend who didn’t even work at the Ministry, ate lunch with them once every other week. Today was their lucky day. “It’s the day for love, after all. The Fluttering Flitters are at their most active, and with all of them flying around, it’s the day of the year with the single highest probability of finding your soulmate.”

Nobody spoke for a long moment. 

“Harry and I first kissed on Valentine’s Day,” Luna continued dreamily. “Three years ago. The Flitters were thick that night.”

Ron’s eyes were wide with horror as he looked from Luna to Hermione. “Anyway. What do _you_ think?”

Draco was too late with his telepathic message telling Ron to abort his line of questioning. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What do I think about telling someone you fancy them for the first time on Valentine’s Day?” Draco could hear the derision dripping from every syllable. Ron must have heard it too because he flinched. “I think it’s the coward’s way.”

It was Draco’s turn to flinch. Well then. Time to think of a Plan B. Of course, she _would_ think it cowardly, and it was just what he’d thought about maybe trying to do. He was the quintessential coward, just ask anybody. Only he couldn’t possibly approach Hermione Granger with his Feelings in a cowardly way. 

Actually, he’d have to go with Plan X, as in, nix that idea completely. Had he seriously been considering asking Hermione on a date? Half the men in the room would give their right arm for a chance to date her, and he thought _he_ was going to give it a go? He’d been mental. 

“What do you think Hawkins should do?” Luna’s fluttery voice drew Draco out of the mental berating he’d been giving himself. 

Hermione pursed her lips and considered the question. All eyes were on her, so when she glanced at Draco for the barest of glances and their eyes met for the briefest of instances, something inside him exploded. He took a sip of water.

She sat up straight and addressed her friend. “He should just talk to her.”

Ron groaned. “That’s it? Just talk to her? Come on, Hermione, even you can’t expect us to believe that you’re not the least bit interested in someone being romantic with you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “What about flowers? Chocolate? Jewelry?”

“Those things are nice, Harry, and they certainly have their time and place. But Hawkins in Accounting should try talking to Matilda in HR before confessing some secret, long-term fancy.”

“Oh, Hermione, come off it.” Ron rolled his eyes. “As your former boyfriend, I happen to know for a fact that you _are_ interested in that romantic stuff. Sappy cards and flowers and chocolate and jewelry and whatnot.” 

She glared at him. “Of course I appreciate romance, Ron. And I like all of those things you mentioned. But how is a man supposed to know what flowers I like, or what kind of chocolate, if he doesn't know me? How would he know what jewelry I prefer if he doesn’t spend time with me?” Draco could feel her earnestness in every word. “I would rather have an honest conversation to begin. If things progress, then fine. He can learn the flowers and chocolate that I love and give me those gifts. But I have received enough flowers and candy from men I don't know to be able to tell you how little they mean to me. I need connection before romance.”

Draco's heart was thudding. He remembered her once mentioning she loved peonies, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she liked her chocolate best in the form of ice cream. What did all of this mean for him, if anything? It was as though she were giving him a detailed blueprint to the inner workings of her heart, yet he doubted it was intentional. None of this had anything to do with him. 

“Do you think Matilda feels the same?” Ron asked. 

At that, she hesitated. “I don't know. I've no idea what kind of relationship she and Hawkins have. If it were me, and he had never spoken a word to me, I would want some connection first. Maybe I’m simply too cynical for this holiday.” 

“I think he should go for it,” said Luna. She was then asked to explain her statement, and Draco was left very flummoxed. He’d known women were complex creatures, but he hadn’t expected such a wide range of opinion on this topic. Granted, he thought Hermione might be rather an outlier and that most women would appreciate a grand gesture on Valentine’s Day. 

Nevertheless, he had a lot to think about.

**SIX DAYS**

Draco hated being late for meetings. If there was a doorway to the slippery slope that was fascination with the Dark Arts, it was being late to a scheduled appointment. Once that simple rule was discarded, what could society really count on? His motto was fifteen minutes early is on time. 

Hence when he walked into the meeting room fifteen minutes before the scheduled start time, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t empty. He was almost always the first person to any meeting. Of course, he quickly became unsurprised when he saw _who_ was there. Hermione was seated at one end of the long conference table. Spread on the table before her were three piles of small parchment, and she was bent over one of them with her quill flowing effortlessly over the page.

She was so engrossed in her task that she failed to notice him, and so when he spoke, she jumped. “What are you doing?”

Her head flew up, her eyes meeting his as she hurried to try and hide what she was working on. “Nothing.”

He smirked and sat, leaving one chair between them. “That’s not nothing. Are you writing Valentines, Granger?” 

Hermione sat up, pulled her stacks out and reordered them. “If you must know, yes I was. After careful consideration, I decided that I agreed with the Ministry’s efforts at fostering goodwill amongst its employees. Therefore, I have decided to send notes of thanks to my superiors and notes of encouragement to my subordinates. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing for your friends?”

She made a face. “I haven’t decided. They know how I feel about them and don’t need anything from me.” Her stacks once again in order, she took a fresh sheet and began writing. “How about you? Will you be sending out notes to your nearest and dearest?”

Draco swallowed thickly, fighting the impulse to shout his feelings to her. He’d been having to resist this bizarre urge more and more as the days neared Valentine’s. He had no idea why, as nothing about their relationship had changed one iota, but his working theory was that, as a result of being inundated with messages of love and romance, his subconscious was asserting itself in an effort to get his head in line with his heart. He was putting up a valiant defense.

“I’ve got something in the works.” His reply was deliberately cagey. However, if he’d thought this would put a stop to her questioning, he’d have been barmier than Lockhart.

“Oh?” She set down her quill, turned her body so that she was squarely facing him, and rested her hands in her lap. “Do tell.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Well, he didn’t, but only because he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. The chance to let her in on his little secret was too precious to pass up, however. “George and I have been working on something… festive.”

Her eyes immediately went wide, and he saw a mix of suspicious, intrigue, and a sparkle of mischief. “Now you must tell me everything.”

Draco chuckled. “We came up with this idea for a lollipop that will turn the eater’s skin a different color. Bright red, neon pink, swamp green. It’s harmless, only lasts for a few hours, but you don’t know what color you’ll turn until it happens. The lollipop color has nothing to do with the spell.”

“That’s fantastic!” she exclaimed, her expression bright. “I want a few of them. I won’t tell what they are or where they’re from, you have my word.” She paused, considering him. “I’d also like a thorough breakdown of the spellwork involved.” 

“I would expect nothing less. I’ll speak with him and see what I can do.” He smiled, then rapped his fingers on the table, every ounce of with-it dissipating like so much fog. He wanted desperately to say something, anything, rather than endure the silence that was beginning to settle be—

“Do you have any plans for the day?” She seemed to find a spot on the table extremely interesting.

He frowned. “What day?”

“Valentine’s Day. You know. Other than work.”

The conversation had taken an alarmingly confusing turn. He did his best to smile nonchalantly while feeling decidedly chalant. “I have a tentative standing date with my mother on February fourteenth.”

Her face softened and her eyes shone. “Really?”

He shrugged, a sudden desire to loosen his tie due to the surprising warmth of the room. Had the temperature gone up a few degrees in the last five seconds? It was really a lot for her to be looking at him like that when all he was doing was being a decent human being who loved his mother. “Yes. It’s been something of a tradition. When I don’t have other plans, I spend the evening with her.”

“It’s hard to imagine you not having other plans.” Again, that spot on the table was utterly fascinating. 

“This will be the fourth consecutive year I’ll be spending the holiday with my mother.” He frowned. “That sounds a lot more pathetic out loud.”

Hermione burst out laughing. He refused to dwell on a completely fluffy thought that darted through his mind about how her laugh was like music or bells or fairy wings. What he did think about was how much he wanted to hear it again—how much he wanted to be the reason she did it.

In a desperate attempt to not dwell, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Do you have any plans?”

Her laugh subsided, leaving her with slightly pink cheeks and a brilliant smile and Draco had to remind himself to breathe. “No, I have no plans for that night.”

The silence was suddenly oppressive as she looked anywhere but at him. Words got stuck in his throat and in his brain and he could not for the life of him understand why she had this effect on him. Obviously the… thing… he felt for her was more serious than he’d imagined. 

As the weight of her last words hovered in the air between them, he started wondering why nobody else had shown up yet. As the seconds seemed to stretch like his favorite taffy, he briefly questioned whether it was possible that a wormhole had opened up in the room, distorting the time-space continuum and they would be forever trapped in this awkward moment. 

Just when he thought he might choke on the words he kept shoving down his throat, the door opened and five other people walked in. Within a minute, everyone else showed up and the meeting started and he was swept along with his day. 

A very troubling, niggling question accompanied him until he went to sleep: why had she cared about his plans?

**THREE DAYS**

“Hello mother.”

Narcissa sat at one end of the dining table, Draco at the other. It was a relatively new table, not the one that had been in Malfoy Manor since time out of mind. No people had been swallowed whole on this table. And even though it was different, it was always covered with a table cloth. As though that might somehow trick their memories.

“Good morning, son.”

There was something he wanted to ask his mother, but he didn't know how. Or if he should. He hadn't been dating anyone when he'd bought the tickets to the symphony. He still wasn't dating anyone. But some sixth sense told him that, if he asked, Hermione would say yes. All he had to do was decide if he really wanted to (absolutely) and how (with words!). But whenever he thought about it, words made no sense. Whenever he pictured himself actually trying to say those words to her, he mumbled and bumbled and made an arse of himself. 

He had three days to figure out what he wanted to do. It wasn't exactly encouraging.

"Something on your mind?" Narcissa's voice made him jump.

"No. Well, maybe." He set his fork down with a frown. "It's about... Monday."

He glanced at his mother to find her peering keenly at him. "What about Monday, darling?"

"It's just... I wondered... Is that really what you..." He trailed off. If he couldn't even ask his mother for her ticket, then he had no business trying to ask Hermione to use it. 

"Oh, did you mean this Monday? I apologize, dear. Something came up and I can't attend the symphony with you. Perhaps you can find someone to go with?" 

Draco froze, slowly lifting his gaze to his mother. She was daintily slicing through a grapefruit, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Not for the first time, he wondered if his mother had any Seer in her; she was far more perceptive than he was comfortable with. “I’m not sure it would… make you happy.” Might as well get this part out of the way. 

Narcissa gave him a long, hard look. “I see. So she would be unkind to you?”

Draco blinked. “Er, well, I shouldn’t think so, if she feels the same way about me that I do about her.”

“Well, that’s as one would expect, of course. Would she be unfaithful to you then?” Finished with her breakfast, Narcissa’s food disappeared and a tea set took the place of the dishes on the sideboard. 

“No, I—what would make you think that?” Draco’s confusion was real.

“You said that it wouldn’t make me happy.” Narcissa stood and began preparing herself a cup of tea. “I can only assume that you meant she would not be right for you in some way, as that is the only characteristic which I might object to.”

He dropped his gaze to his plate, thinking that it was too early for his brain to be stretched and twisted like this. “Mother, she’s—”

“Draco, my dear. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me.” She returned to her seat with her tea and took a sip. “I wouldn’t care if she had three arms if she loved you. It matters nothing to me what her blood status is. Should she mistreat you, however, I’m not above revenge.”

He swallowed hard, partly because he knew his mother could be a force when angered and partly because a pesky lump had formed in his throat while she had been talking and he needed it to go away before he did something rash or uncharacteristic. 

With a flourish of her hand, the Symphony ticket appeared beside his plate. She lifted the teacup to her lips and smirked. “Have a nice time.”

**VALENTINE’S DAY**

As a general rule, Hermione was never late to work. However, when she woke on Monday, February 14th, she wanted to turn off her alarm, roll over, and snuggle back under the covers. Not only was it a Monday, but it was Valentine’s Day, the day those dreaded boxes would be delivered at some point, likely ruining her entire day. 

It wasn't that she hated the holiday. She had tried to understand why all the hoopla surrounding it was bothering her so much this year. She'd always been able to mostly slide through with little to no inconvenience or thought. There had even been Valentine’s Days in the past few years where she had been in a relationship of some kind, and those had generally been more pleasant than ones alone. Something extra was plaguing her this year, though, and she knew it. Thus far, she had been frustratingly unable to identify the reason. 

_Not quite true!_

Hermione groaned and pushed herself out of bed, cursing the inner monologue that refused to leave her in peace. If she got busy getting ready then she wouldn't have to listen to that little voice.

An hour later she was regrettably late. She hurried through the halls of the Ministry toward her office, waving briskly at people who greeted her. She was relieved upon entering her office to see that the irksome box had not yet been delivered. However, she’d taken only two steps into the room before noticing that there was something sitting on her desk. Stepping back into the hall again, she glanced around at her co-workers and saw that nobody was looking at her in any strange, anticipatory way. Hermione gathered her courage and went back into her office, shedding her coat and bag as she went. 

When she saw the object, she let out a gasp. On her desk was a small, white bud vase, and in the vase was a single peony bloom. It was the color of salmon, the tips of each petal slightly paler than the rest. Beside the vase was a note. It was unsigned and simply said, 

“Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
Sugarquills are sweet,  
And so are you.”

She smiled and shook her head, gingerly putting the note aside. She had no clue who might have sent it and didn't recognize the handwriting, and she knew that it would drive her mad not to know who it was. The flower was perfection, caught in just the perfect state of bloom, and the vase that the giver had chosen was simple, not detracting from the beauty of the flower. Whoever it was clearly had excellent taste, plus it had to be someone she knew well enough to know that peonies were her favorite. The barest thrill shot through her as she dared to think the one name she wished had been attached to the card, but there was no reason to let her imagination run away with her. 

After everything she’d said about heartfelt confessions on Valentine's Day, she didn’t know what to think about the possibility of having one directed at her. A flower was no confession, of course, but surely the sender didn’t intend to remain anonymous. 

Hermione resolved not to think about it again. She moved the vase out of her main work space and pulled out her things, ready to begin her day. 

The box was delivered about an hour later. Her jaw had dropped when she saw not the small, shoebox sized container she’d been expecting but one about four feet tall and two feet by two feet square. The man who delivered it worked in the Owlery, and he had to wheel it in on a cart. 

“There’s too much to Levitate,” he said, almost apologetically. “Where do you want this?”

She quickly looked around her office and determined that the best thing to do would be to clear a corner for the giant box. Together, she and the Owlery employee moved some furniture around to accommodate the box. Then he proceeded to pull a few more things off his cart: balloons, a few large stuffed animals, and a giant heart-shaped box that she assumed was full of chocolate. 

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “I'm so sorry you have to deliver these all day.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Most of them aren’t quite as big as yours.” With a wink and a smile, he left. 

Once the door had shut behind him, Hermione just stared at the pile in the corner. It was like an explosion of pink and red and white, and she noticed with surprise that something—maybe multiple things—in her box was flashing, and if she was very quiet, she thought she could hear music. It was tinny, like she’d heard from cards she’d seen while shopping with her mother. 

With all of the extra stuff piled on top, the stack almost reached the ceiling. She suspected most of it was not gifts from romantic admirers, but simply a show of gratitude for her efforts helping Harry in the war. Random strangers still liked to stop her on the street and thank her. 

As much as the box and its contents intrigued her, she decided she wouldn't look at anything until after the work day was finished. So back to her desk she went. She vaguely registered a higher noise level than usual outside her office, but a simple sound blocking spell solved the issue.

An hour later there was another knock on her door. 

“Come in,” she called, not looking up. 

Ron entered with his hands in his pockets looking casually pleased. The first thing he did was to look for the box. 

“Blimey! Yours is almost as big as Harry's!” He whistled appreciatively. “It's bigger than mine. I’m not really surprised though. No one is as popular as Harry, of course, and you're the only girl among us.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks, Ron. Nice of you to notice.”

He shrugged and stood on his tiptoes to try and see everything. “Anyway, what have you got in there? I can't believe the floor isn't covered with wrappings and envelopes and stuff. It looks like you haven’t touched a thing!”

“That’s because I haven’t. I wasn't planning on looking at it anytime soon.” She crossed her arms. “I am working, you know, because that's what we do here, Ron. We work, remember?”

He waved dismissively. “Nobody's working right now, Hermione. Everybody's looking at their stuff and talking about it. There have been a number of romantic interests revealed, did you know?”

She held up a hand to stop him. “I don't want to hear it right now, Ron. I just want to do my work today.” 

Ron went over to the box and started pawing through it. “You must have twenty boxes of chocolate in here! Surely somebody got you something you’d like. Come on, I’ll just open one and we can both have a piece. Ooh, here’s a lollipop.”

Hermione smirked, recognizing the wrapper from the handful she’d gotten from Draco. “You can have that, Ron.”

He pocketed it eagerly. “Thanks. Although I think I have one.”

“I really don’t mind. Look, if all you're here for is to see about what I've got in the box, then you need to leave so that I can get some work done.” More to herself, she muttered, “I knew this day would be heinous. Interruptions every time I get settled into something.”

He flipped through some of the cards that were piled in the box, then turned to go. “Well, we'll see you at lunch, right?”

“Of course I'll be there. Though I don’t know for how long. It's Monday, after all, and you know there's always extra work from the weekend.” She sent a weary look at the inbox she still hadn’t touched.

“Sure, sure,” said Ron. “I'll see you at lunch. Don’t work too hard!”

Hermione made herself a cup of tea, then settled in for a solid stint of work. Just when she’d gotten into the groove, however, a memo flew in and landed atop her inbox. It was urgent, obvious from the red paper used to make the airplane. With a sigh, Hermione opened it. 

Halfway through, she laughed out loud.

TO: All Ministry Employees  
FROM: Head Healer, Amelia F. Cook

Do not be alarmed if your skin turns a different color. After seeing multiple cases, running  
all available diagnostic tests, and interviewing dozens of people, I have determined that  
the situation is merely the result of a prank. Everyone afflicted has consumed one or more “Lick  
’Em Lollies” brand lollipops received in their Valentine boxes from an anonymous employee. The  
color change should last a few hours at most and is otherwise harmless. Anyone with information  
about who might be responsible, please see Head Auror, Harry Potter.

“Like Harry’s going to do anything but laugh.” Hermione crumpled up the note and tried to get back to work, but her mind kept wandering to Draco. She couldn’t help wondering what he would think when he read the message. Would his reaction give him away? Did Harry know already? Was he perhaps in on the prank?

Finally, she fell back into a steady rhythm of work and became so focused that she didn't notice the next hour and a half pass. It wasn't until her stomach literally rumbled that she remembered lunch. A quick glance at her watch revealed that she was already in danger of missing eating with her friends at all. She hurried to the cafeteria, quickly ordered, and sat down to find them all either finished with their meals or nearly so.

Harry grinned at her. “What’s in your box? Ron says it's huge.”

“Not as big as yours, I hear,” she quipped. “But I haven't looked at anything in it.”

Everybody gaped at her. “You’ve looked at _nothing?_ ” Ginny was incredulous. “Why not?” 

Hermione huffed. “I have work to do, remember? As do all of you! Why does nobody think that we should be working today?”

“People in my department have really just started working,” said Harry. “The whole morning was lost due to everybody going through their stuff, laughing, sharing jokes. Not to mention half the Aurors’ skins turned all the colors of the rainbow. Hopefully this afternoon will be more productive.”

Hermione glanced at Draco to find his expression completely impassive. She wished he’d looked at her and they could share a private moment of knowing that only the two of them knew what was behind the lollipops, but he kept his gaze elsewhere. Instead, she glanced around the cafeteria, noting with enjoyment the number of people with skin in shades of orange, green, blue, purple. 

“What do you make of the lollipops?” Hermione asked everyone.

“Brilliant,” said Ron without missing a beat. His skin was bright red, but he didn’t seem to mind. “That Lolly you gave me, Hermione, did this, but I’m glad it’s not just me.”

At that, Draco’s gaze darted to her. “Ron took it out of my giant box,” she explained. “And I wasn’t in the mood for a lollipop today.” He nodded, then slowly grinned. 

“When are you going to go through your tower of loot?” Ginny asked. 

“After I have completed my work day. I plan to order something delivered, open a bottle of wine, and tackle the stack. It seems like a really nice way to end the day, reading through what I’m sure will be a lot of nice things.”

“I’ll come help.” Ginny grinned. “If you promise to share some chocolates.”

Hermione chuckled. “I’m sure you have better things to do tonight, don’t you?”

Ginny shrugged. “I can spare an hour. Blaise is set to meet me for dinner at seven.”

After lunch, Hermione headed back to her office. She was pleasantly full, and she was even considering breaking into one of the chocolate boxes. One little peek wouldn’t derail her productivity, surely. But upon entering her small space, she noticed something on her desk that hadn’t been there before. In the exact spot where the vase had been that morning, with the papers she’d left carefully moved to the side, was a lovely glass dish on a pedestal with some kind of ice cream in it. Another note sat beside the dish. 

Heart pounding, unable and unwilling to fight a grin, she opened the note.

Hermione - I wanted to be sure you had your favorite version of chocolate today.

She flipped the card over, desperate for some clue as to who was sending her these thoughtful gifts. The handwriting matched the card from the morning and she had to laugh to herself at the irony. Someone had clearly set out to send her romantic gifts after she’d harbored such bitter thoughts about such gestures. But even though the gifts were perfect for her, she dreaded learning the identity of her mystery romantic. She simply wasn’t harboring any secret feelings for anybody, unless you counted the last person in the world who would ever think about her in a romantic way. Since that was never going to happen, she knew she was headed for having to tell someone that she wasn’t interested. That was always unpleasant. And with the work her admirer had put into the gifts, she knew it would be doubly hard. It was easy when the bloke just bought roses and a box of chocolates. 

With a single, wistful sigh, she shook her head. As much as she hated the idea, the bloke would be disappointed by the end of the day. But there was nothing she could do about that. 

She savored every single bite of the incredible chocolate ice cream. She’d have to ask where it came from because she’d never had chocolate ice cream that good, and she’d eaten a lot of chocolate ice cream in her life. Then she tried to return her attention to work things, but her mind kept slipping back to that conversation she’d had with _him_ a few days before. She’d really, honestly thought that he might, maybe, just maybe, have thought about asking her out. But he’d said that he had plans with his mother, and she couldn’t imagine he would cancel on her. 

No. This would be another Valentine’s Day spent alone. Whatever may or may not happen between them was a journey for another day. Truth be told, she was honestly looking forward to going through everything in her box. As she’d told Ginny, it seemed like a really nice way to spend the evening. And truly, she was very happy with this. 

It took a good fifteen minutes to settle into a good groove again, and then the afternoon flew. At quarter to five, just as she was beginning to wrap up for the day, another memo flew into her office, this one yellow to indicate that it had come from someone from another department. It was slightly larger than usual, meaning that the memo was carrying something. Hermione took the airplane and unfolded it, revealing a white envelope. Her breath caught when she recognized her name written in the same hand as the two notes she’d already received.

Before opening it, she took a deep breath. She wanted to read it, of course she did, but it also meant that there was an ending inside. The end of the ‘what ifs,’ the end of her wishful imaginings. Oh well. She wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing. Using her wand, she broke the seal. 

Inside was a card. The cover was pink with a red heart in each corner. There was a picture of a two-seater bicycle, and it said, “Valentine, won’t you take me for a spin?”

Hermione laughed. It was ridiculously silly, but somehow it was yet another indication of how much effort someone had put into making this day special for her. And, really, whoever he was had succeeded beautifully. The day she had dreaded for two weeks had been brightened beyond her imagination. With a sigh, she opened the card. 

A slip of thick paper covered the words written on the inside of the card. It was a ticket, and her heart jumped into her throat. She didn’t look at it but tilted the card so that the ticket slid onto her desk, revealing the hand-written message. 

Her eyes automatically dropped to the signature and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Somehow, inexplicably, right there was Draco’s name. She turned the card over, expecting some kind of prank. It simply wasn’t possible! Then she looked at the ticket more closely and saw that it was for the Symphony that night, the very one he had said he’d be attending with his mother. Confused, she finally turned her focus to the message written in that stark, jaunty hand:

Dear Hermione, 

I thought this might be more appropriate than jewelry. My mother's plans for the evening changed  
and it would be a terrible shame for this ticket to go to waste. I hope you will consider using it.  
Please be aware that, should you choose to redeem it, you will be sitting beside me. If this idea is  
not wholly undesirable to you, perhaps you would consider dinner with me beforehand. 

Sincerely,  
Draco

She had to reread the message four times before it really sunk in. The peony and the ice cream were from him! It was beyond comprehension, but here was the proof, right in the card. He had invited her to attend the Symphony with him, and even suggested dinner! She thought she might float right through the ceiling.

**ooo**

After sending the card off to Hermione, Draco found that he suddenly needed something very physical to do with himself. He regretted some of the words he’d used; he realized he hadn’t asked for any kind of response. What if she wanted to go to dinner but didn’t know where to go? Would she just show up at the Symphony? What if she didn’t?

He stood abruptly from his desk and went into the break room. Maybe another cup of tea would help. It would be his fourth, but then, he’d been up late perfecting the stasis charm on the peony that would keep it fresh but not stiff. Hermione could touch it, the petals could move, but it would never wither. 

He was such a mess of nerves, however, that he bungled his tea and spilled a good bit of sugar. After glancing quickly around to make sure nobody had seen, he Vanished the sugar then magically cleaned the counter. Finally, it was done, but he found he couldn’t drink it. He wasn’t relaxed enough to enjoy a leisurely cup at his desk. 

Instead, he asked Harry if he could do the daily filing.

“You, uh, feeling okay?” Nobody liked doing the filing; it was the most monotonous, boring task in the entire department, but it was exactly what Draco needed right now. The straightforward, no thought required physical task of putting things away would help take his mind off the mess he’d made of his final gift to Hermione. It wouldn’t be long before he could head home and have a drink of something a bit stronger while waiting for the Symphony. Why hadn’t he thought to ask for a response?

The filing room was a black hole of filing cabinets, shelves, and paper. There was a table in the middle of the room for sorting or organizing. Draco rolled up his sleeves and set to work with gusto, challenging himself to finish before the final bell of the day rang.

When it did, he was so engrossed in his task that he jumped. He assessed the status of the filing and put away the last two items. There was still a stack of files that weren’t ready to be filed, despite the Aurors they belonged to claiming they were. He’d take them to Harry to deal with, grateful that it wasn’t his responsibility. 

After making sure the room was in order, he tucked the pile under one arm and headed back to the department’s main work area. He took two steps through the door and, with his free hand, pushed his hair away from his eyes. When he did so, he looked up and saw Hermione standing only a few feet in front of him. He stopped in his tracks. It had not occurred to him that she might come to find him. 

Her hands were by her side, one balled into a fist, the other clutching the card he’d sent her. His heart started pounding and his brain ceased any kind of helpful functioning. He didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do with his hands. A thousand years might have passed before he forced one word out. 

“Hi.”

She let out a shaky breath and stepped closer to him, smiling slightly. “Hi.” Before he could kick his brain into gear to come up with another incredibly profound and amazing word to say, one which would surely sweep her off her feet, she’d fully entered his personal space to the extent that he had to tilt his head down to look her in the eye. 

She hesitated, her eyes briefly flitting between his. Then, still clutching the card, she wrapped both arms around his neck, rising on her toes to reach him better. With her free hand, she threaded her fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck and gently but firmly pulled his head down toward her. It happened so fast that before he could fully process her arms around him, she had pressed her lips to his and was well on her way to snogging him. Not to be outdone, his brain, which had heretofore failed him, jumped into the action and he kissed her back with gusto. The stack of files he’d been holding forgotten, he snaked his arms around her waist and closed the gap between them, feeling as though his heart would surely burst through his chest at the feel of her pressed flush against him. Belatedly, his mind registered the sound of all those files hitting the floor, papers scattering, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. 

It was the sound of applause and whoops and hollers that broke through the hazy state his mind had entered upon deciding to kiss Hermione Granger (back!), and his eyes flew open just in time to see hers do the same. They broke apart, and he noted with a burst of pride how deliciously snogged she looked, with her eyes shining and her lips red and her cheeks pink. 

Harry cleared his throat from across the room and most people pretended to be very busy, even though the work day was officially over. 

Hermione took a step back and brandished the card with a brilliant smile. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, Draco. Yes to everything.”

**ooo**

It turned out that his little, teeny, tiny, almost, maybe, kind of, if you squint, sort of thing for Hermione Granger wasn’t so small after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My prompts were: bicycle, giggle, lollipop, and heart. The name of the lollipop (Lick ‘Em Lollies) was used in homage to a wonderful friend’s fic she wrote in 2006 of the same name. If you haven’t read it, go find it! Her name is somandalicious and everything she wrote is brilliant. Beta thanks go to dormiensa! Pretty art made by dreamsofdramione even without knowing anything about the story!
> 
> Story title taken from “Daisy Bell” by Nat King Cole.
> 
> Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do  
>  I'm half crazy all for the love of you  
>  It won't be a stylish marriage  
>  I can't afford a carriage  
>  But you'll look sweet upon the seat  
>  Of a bicycle built for two


End file.
